The Meaning
by Cat's Eye through a Mousehole
Summary: The story of Hogwarts during Deathly Hallows, told by an innocent sixth-year half-blood, Calpurnia Watson. The world is going to hell, and not all of us can be brave and heroic. But at least we can try.
1. The Dark Lord Ascending

Look, I may have been sixteen, but I wasn't _stupid._

Probably.

I never wanted to go back to school for my sixth year. I'd taken my OWLs. I'd done well, probably. I was a Ravenclaw. Not the best of my year, no Hermione Granger, but smart. Lazy, but pretty smart.

And clever, too. (And ever so modest.) Though you didn't have to be clever to see what was going on. Scrimgeour stepped down, after only a year of being Minister? Sudden, horrible restrictions on Muggles? And where the hell was Harry Potter?

But that came later.

All I knew, at the tender age of sixteen, was that I shouldn't go back to Hogwarts. Something was deeply wrong in the World. You-Know-Who had been active for a year now-well, really two, but I couldn't have been expected to believe Harry Potter (until the publication of that Quibbler). I was fourteen. It was the world against him and Professor Dumbledore. I didn't want the world to be against me, too.

I'm a coward. So sue me.

Mum, of course, didn't believe me. She said I was just trying to get out of school. As if! I loved Hogwarts. I never saw my friends outside of term. (I lived in Muggle suburbia. Teenagers in oddly colored robes walking around would have scared the hell out of the neighbors.) I was ordered to have a school year in a place ruled by hell.

I'd always rather liked Professor Snape, though Potions had always been hard for me. He seemed interesting, in a greasy sort of way. But I'd loved Professor Dumbledore, and I'd seen the body.

I didn't like Professor Snape much any more.

I would have gone to Dad for help-he usually took my side. But Dad had been murdered last year when You-Know-Who sent giants through the office building where he worked. So I didn't. Dad had been a Muggle. Mum was a witch, a Healer. They used to joke about how she could heal him all the time-Dad was clumsy, and often cut himself up. And now Dad was dead, and Mum hadn't been able to heal him at all.

My ten-year-old brother, Charlie, was no help either. "You _get_ to go to Hogwarts!" he whined. "_I've_ got to wait a whole _year_! It's not _fair_!"

And my OWLs, when I received them, though good, changed nothing:

Astronomy-E

Charms-O

Defense Against the Dark Arts-A

Divination-E

Herbology-O

History of Magic-O

Muggle Studies-E

Potions-A

Transfiguration-E

Three Os, four Es, and nine OWLs altogether. I was more than pleased.

Still, it was with trepidation that I boarded the Hogwarts Express that would take me to my sixth year. There were men at the platform this year, some of them big and beefy, some of them scrawny and ratty, none of them nice-looking. A word sprang to mind. Rhymed with "breath meter."

I joined my friends Selene and Rhiannon in a little compartment towards the back of the train. Our fourth member, Christopher, hadn't shown yet, and we made small talk while he waited for him. Christopher was always late, though he was the fastest runner I'd ever seen.

Back in third year, when what I referred to in the private space of my own head as the Trouble started and Cedric Diggory had died, I'd been invited to the Yule Ball by a good-looking Beauxbatons boy and had accepter. Christopher had come with some fifth-year Gryffindor girl. Eventually, we had both abandoned our partners and begun dancing with each other. After a very awkward rest of third year, we had gone out for a little while in fourth, only to break up when he fell for Romilda Vane. That crumbled in fifth year when he realized she was trying to feed Harry Potter love potions. I hadn't been paying attention, of course. Not at all.

Even though Christopher and I had an uneasy romantic history, we'd remained friends, and (I hoped) more than that in time. But now the train's gears were kicking into motion beneath us, and he had still not shown.

"Where's Christopher?" I asked, extremely casually.

Selene looked uncomfortable. "Well… look, Callie…"

"I've always said we shouldn't associate ourselves with Muggleborns like him," Rhiannon broke in. "It's like taking a bath in mud."

Rhiannon was my oldest, if not my best, friend. When a few Hufflepuffs had been teasing me about my abysmal DADA performance first year down some back corridor, she'd happened along and made one's teeth grow down past his chin. We'd been fast friends ever since, and I was willing to forgive her for a little anti-Muggle prejudice. It was just the way she'd been brought up, after all.

"They got Christopher boarding the train," Selene explained to me quietly. "Took him to the Ministry for investigation. We're not sure now what they've done with him now, but I'm sure he'll come to Hogwarts in time for classes…" Her tone belied her words. She wasn't sure of anything.

The rest of the ride to Hogwarts was spent exchanging gossip and Chocolate Frog cards, which were our little quartet's-our little trio's equivalent of a comfort blanket. We'd been collecting Chocolate Frog cards since second year, and although we were now sixteen years old, we'd still exclaim over a Paracelsus and search eagerly for Agrippa. No one mentioned Christopher again, though he hung over our heads like a water balloon with a Levitating Charm on it.

The horseless carriages arrived to transport us to the castle soon enough, and we were all reclining at Ravenclaw table waiting for the first years in what seemed like a few minutes. Looking around, I noticed some significant changes this year. First, some ugly-looking people were sitting at the Head Table, one a woman (probably), one a man. New teachers, obviously. One for Defense Against the Dark Arts… I wondered which one it was. And what subject was the other one supposed to teach? It rose to my mind that Professor Burbage, who taught Muggle Studies, had gone missing, but I shoved that thought out of my head. Professor Burbage was my favorite teacher… it couldn't be her.

Second, the tables were unusually empty. And not just because of graduated seventh years, either. A nagging feeling was growing in my stomach, and I recalled Rhiannon's words on the train:

"_We shouldn't be associating with Muggleborns._"

"_It's like taking a bath in mud._"

The new first years filed in, breaking through my reverie, A few were sopping wet, and I grinned as I recalled falling in the lake my first year. I'd been in a boat with a dreamy girl called Luna, who'd stood up to point out something called a Gulping Plimpy in the lake and overturned us all.

Professor McGonagall, looking apprehensive and angry, carried in the old Sorting Hat and placed it on the stool. Its brim opened a little and it sang in an oddly gloomy tone:

_Since wizardry was new begun_

_New students all have been_

_Sent to a school of magic deeds_

_Be they both fat and lean._

_And so 'twas that in olden days_

_Four founders gathered here_

_To teach these students, large and small,_

_And brave, and full of fear._

_I was the hat of Gryffindor,_

_The bravest, and the strong,_

_And ever since, I've sorted you_

_And explained by a song._

_In Gryffindor they're brave and true,_

_The Ravenclaws are clever._

_Those Hufflepuffs all prize hard work,_

_Slytherin's cunning ever._

_So fear not, and don't run away,_

_Just stick me on your cap._

_I'll tell you where just where you should be_

_For I'm the Sorting Hat!_

I applauded, though warily. For the past two years the Sorting Hat had told us to unify, love each other, and be nice. This year? A simple, short, and badly rhymed song.

"Bray, Michael!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Hope we get decent first years this term," Rhiannon said. I merely nodded in response, lost in thought. Rhiannon gave me a sharp look and turned to the newly appeared food.

After the feast was done, I felt a strong sense of contentment, as if someone had cast a Cheerful Charm on me. That contentment disappeared abruptly as Professor Snape, greasy hair glistening in the light, strode to the head of the Hall. My heart froze. Professor Snape was the headmaster. The new Hogwarts headmaster had murdered the old one. It was just another sign of the ones I was now realizing I couldn't ignore: You-Know-Who was coming to power.

"Greetings," Professor Snape said coldly. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts."

_I hate you_, I thought. How dare he welcome me? He was part of the reason that Christopher and the other Muggleborns were not welcome. How dare he welcome _me_?

"As you may have noticed," continued Professor Snape, "there have been significant changes at the school this year. First, we welcome two new teachers, Professors Carrow and Carrow." The Slytherins applauded frantically. I clapped my hands together once, figuring it was better to do what I hated for these bastards than be marked in their bad books. _Carrow!_ They were Death Eaters! A Death Eater, teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts? It was going to be an interesting year.

"Second," said Professor Snape, his black eyes narrowing, "there will not be the same namby-pamby treatment you received under my… predecessor." His use of the word was painfully accurate. "There is a new force coming to power in the world, and we intend to let Hogwarts reflect that. Your Muggleborn friends have been taken to the Ministry for investigation. Some of you may be wondering why. The answer is that they _are not worthy_ of Hogwarts School. For those of you who have remained-" his eyes cast over us all- "your blood is purer than theirs. Be grateful for it."

My mouth tasted like vomit. He was feeding this to all these students, some of them only first years, trying to make us believe his master's twisted ideals. I cast a glance at the Gryffindor table. It didn't look happy, especially the seventh years. Harry Potter's old girlfriend in particular had knuckles the color of new paper, she was squeezing her fists so hard.

Speaking of which, where _was_ Harry Potter? I cast another glance around the Gryffindor table, but no dark, spiky head of hair met my eye. There was an icy feeling in my stomach. Surely You-Know-Who couldn't have gotten him? It couldn't be. Never.

I didn't hear the rest of Professor Snape the murderer's speech, only that there would be "extreme changes" at this second home of mine. The bastard. Changes would mean _his_ sort of school-one with torture, Muggle-hating, and You-Know-Who.

I went to bed angry, and dreamed of great red trains that went in circles, spending huge amounts of energy going absolutely nowhere.


	2. Cruciatus and Carrows

**Disclaimer**: JK Rowling is not I. I am not JK Rowling. JK Rowling I am not. Am not JK Rowling I. Am not I JK Rowling. I JK Rowling am not. Got that?

Please read AND REVIEW! (Hint.)

...

The next day, my first class was Transfiguration. Although I wasn't good at the subject by any means, it was somehow a relief to have Professor McGonagall standing there in all her strict glory, teaching us immeasurably complicated things. It was a wonder I'd made it into NEWT Transfiguration at all—the E on my report card had been a miracle.

I had a table with Selene and Luna Lovegood, the other two Ravenclaws in the class. Rhiannon hadn't made it in. For her, the P in Transfiguration had been a _good_ mark.

"What do you think is up with the Carrows?" Selene whispered to me as we tried rigorously to turn our teacups into rats.

"Dunno," I whispered back. "They're Death Eaters, aren't they?"

"Yeah," said Selene, looking uneasy. "They were in the news the other day. Amycus, the bloke, he sent werewolves to rip up a whole Muggle _neighborhood_."

I shivered. "Bloody hell. _Literally_ bloody hell for the Muggles, I suppose."

"Right," nodded Selene nervously. She turned to Luna. "D'you know where Harry Potter is?"

"No," Luna said simply, waving her wand. The teacup sprouted whiskers, but didn't do much else. "And I couldn't tell you if I knew. I don't think the Ministry is too pleased with Harry Potter right now, to tell you the truth."

"Got that right," Selene said fervently.

"Having fun?" came a cold voice from behind us. Slowly, I looked up to find Professor McGonagall's angry face. "As far as I can tell, Miss Lovegood is the only one of you three who's yet tried to perform the assigned duty. As for you two, Miss Bryce, Miss Watson—detention." The moment she said the word, her face went white with fear. "I meant… not detention, girls, but-"

"Hold on just a moment," came an oozing voice from the doorway. Slowly, Professor McGonagall turned around, as did the whole class. Amycus Carrow stood there, ugly as hell, with a wand in his hand. "I happened to be passing by looking for a… demonstration for my seventh years, Minerva, and I think detention is perfectly appropriate for these two miscreants." He paused. "I would be glad to take them to my classroom."

"I don't think that will be _quite _necessary, Amycus," Professor McGonagall tried to say commandingly. Her face was the color of parchment, and she looked very old all of a sudden.

"But you ain't being paid to think, are you?" said Carrow, baring yellow lumps that were probably teeth in a smile. "You'd better come with me, Miss Bryce, Miss Watson."

"I'll go too," Luna said clearly. "I was talking in class too. I deserve punishment."

"Don't be stupid, Miss Lovegood," Professor McGonagall said hurriedly and firmly. "You've done nothing wrong. You needn't go with _Professor_ Carrow." She said the word _Professor_ like it was a bad taste in her mouth.

"For now," Carrow said, grinning again, and left. Hesitantly, Selene and I followed him.

My hand found hers as our footsteps echoed down the corridor, and she squeezed it tightly. We were bright enough not to talk to each other. A demonstration was what we were to be, whatever that meant, and talking would probably make it worse.

Carrow led us to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, which I found ominous. It was filled with seventh years from all the houses. I spotted Draco Malfoy, who rumor said had been up the tower the night Professor Dumbledore died, and those two thugs he kept around, Gregory Goyle and… something… Crabbe. God only knew how they'd even passed their OWLs.

"Well, well, boys and girls," Carrow said, grinning, "I've got a treat for you all. These sixth years," he indicated Selene and me, "talked out of turn. What should be their punishment? Abbot?"

A pink-faced Hufflepuff girl muttered something so quietly that I couldn't hear it. Carrow narrowed his eyes. "What was that? Louder."

"Cruciatus," said Abbot, looking close to tears. A sick feeling grew in my stomach. She was joking, surely. For talking out of turn, the Cruciatus Curse? It couldn't be. That just wouldn't be _fair_.

"Which of them do you think should have a turn first, Longbottom?" said Carrow in a sickly sweet voice.

A tall, round-faced Gryffindor looked positively paralyzed, then his hands clenched into fists. "I don't think either should."

I had a sudden, deep affection for Longbottom. Carrow glared. "I don't think either should, _sir_."

"Good, then we're in agreement," Longbottom said, then looked shocked that the words had come out of his mouth. Carrow growled and flicked his want. A deep gash appeared on Neville's forehead, and he staggered backward.

"Detention, Longbottom," Carrow snarled. "Here. After classes. Then you can learn the meaning of manners."

I realized that Selene had gone very pale, and that the sound of my own heartbeat was becoming louder than all other sounds. Carrow glanced at us. "If no one will step up, I'll do it myself," he said, sounding irritated. "_Crucio!_"

It was as if someone was peeling back my skin, one layer at a time, and setting fire to each layer as it was peeled off. My flesh was on fire, by bones were being squeezed in vises, my head was exploding… I desperately prayed for release, death, anything but the pain, the pain, the _pain, _the _pain! the pain!_

And then it was over.

I lay on some hard surface, which it took me some while to realize was the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom floor. Selene was bending over me, whispering frantically in my ear, "Callie? Can you hear me? Are you there? Please, Callie…" Carrow was laughing.

It took an enormous amount of energy for me to sit up. The echo of the unimaginable pain from the Cruciatus Curse was still ringing in my bones, as was the memory of Carrow's laughter. Selene looked relieved, and asked me quietly, "Are you all right?'

"Possibly," I whispered back, struggling to my feet. Draco Malfoy and his minions looked pleased. Longbottom and Abbot looked horrified.

"Goyle, perhaps you'd like to try next?" Carrow asked, raising an eyebrow. "You can return to class, Miss Watson."

I glanced at Selene. It was surely her turn now. Could I leave her here to be tortured? She widened her eyes at me and looked pointedly at the door. The message was clear: _Go!_ I ran.

Hogwarts wasn't Hogwarts any more, I realized as her screams echoed down the corridor behind me. It wasn't home.

Rhiannon was horrified by what Selene and I told her at lunch hours later. "Oh, Callie," she said, sounding as if her heart was broken. "I'm so sorry."

"You'd better be," I snapped. "It's your lot that got us in this mess, your damned parents and their Death Eater friends…"

Rhiannon jerked back, a look of utter shock on her face. I slumped. It wasn't Rhiannon's fault she'd been brought up to hate Muggles. She couldn't help it, just like I couldn't help having a Muggle dad. Thinking of my dad only deepened my sadness, and I sighed.

"I'm sorry, Rhi," I said. "I'm all wound up. It's not your fault we were Crucioed, you didn't bring the Carrows here."

"I didn't mean for any of this to happen," moaned Rhiannon, drawing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. We were on the grounds, sitting under a tree by the lake in the blazing heat of very late summer. "I wanted the new order, I wanted blood to be pure here, but I didn't want you two to get hurt. I never wanted that."

"We know, Rhi," Selene said kindly, patting her knee. "We know."

But it only got worse.

I had my first Muggle Studies class the next day, praying desperately to whatever was up there that Professor Burbage was teaching. I'd always quite liked Professor Burbage. She was nice and got along with the students, accepting us as real people instead of machines you could feed lectures into and expect finished essays to spew out the other end. And she knew a lot about Muggles. She told us about machinery and odd Muggle things, but also about real people, people with ice cream shops and children and hopes and fears. It was her class that helped me to realize people were people, whatever they believed or could do.

The Carrow woman's class was decidedly different.

When I walked in the door, I was surprised to see all the Ravenclaws in my year sitting in desks, looking bored. I chose a seat next to Rhiannon, who normally took Runes, and hissed, "What the hell's going on?"

"They said it's compulsory now," Rhiannon whispered back. "Muggle Studies. Now shut up, she's already sent Colin Creevey to the hospital wing for talking out of turn."

Glancing around, I saw that we were indeed having this class with the Gryffindors. Colin Creevey was missing—probably in the hospital wing as Rhiannon had said—but I did spot Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter's old girlfriend.

The lesson began, and it was everything I had feared it would be. Muggles were dirty, according to the Carrow woman. Associating with them made you a blood traitor. Marrying one made you filth. Any witch or wizard who was the child of even one Muggle had polluted blood. The best thing to do for nonmagical people would be to _put them down_, like animals.

It shook my heart that she was feeding this tripe to everyone in the school, including innocent first years that didn't know better. I hated her at that moment, hated her more than I'd hated anyone before. It was like my second year, when dementors had swooped around the grounds, sucking happiness out of me whenever I got too near. Automatically, I fumbled in my book bag for my secret stash of chocolates, popping one in my mouth when the Carrow woman wasn't looking. It didn't work. It wasn't despair that made me feel sick and unhappy; it was anger at injustice, and frustration that I could do nothing about it.

"Excuse me, Professor," said Ginny Weasley. Her voice was calm, but I could see her hands clenched in tight fists below her desk. "I'd just like to know… when you talk about putting down Muggles, you're talking about monsters?"

"Exactly, Miss Weasley," the Carrow woman said warily. My gaze flicked from one to the other. What was Ginny trying to do here?

"Can we put down you?" Ginny asked innocently. A flash of light, and she was on the ground with a yell of pain.

"Miss Watson, kindly accompany Miss Weasley to the hospital wing," the Carrow woman growled. "She needs to learn respect." Shaken, I helped Ginny up. Her hand was on her cheek, and her eyes were full of fire.

"It's not right, what they're doing to us," I said quietly once we were out in the corridor.

"Too right it isn't," Ginny said bitterly. She took her hand away from her cheek, and I saw it was sticky with blood. "If only Harry were here."

"If only Harry were here," I echoed her sadly. "Have the Ministry got him, d'you know?"

Ginny gave a laugh. "Those Voldemort-run idiots?" I winced at the name. "Sorry," Ginny apologized, "but they couldn't find a Dementor in a field of sunshine and butterflies." She grinned, a fierce, angry grin. "He's on the run." The grin disappeared, but the pure fire in her expression was still plain. "Harry's our only hope… Calpurnia, isn't it?"

"Call me Callie," I said.

We'd arrived at the hospital wing. Ginny dug something out of her pocket and pressed it into my hand… a gold Galleon. "Keep this safe, Callie," she said, looking intently into my eyes. "Don't tell _anyone_ you've got it. Trust me."

And she was gone, leaving me armed with the only weapon better than chocolate: hope.


	3. Quibbling Over Details

September passed, achingly slowly. Though I studied Ginny's Galleon intently, it gave no clue as to why she had pressed it on me, and I didn't have a chance to ask her. The Carrows were patrolling the hallways now, or sending some cronies to do it for them.

I'd learned my lesson in Transfiguration, and avoided punishment strenuously. I didn't talk out of turn, I didn't insult the new establishment, and I kept my head down. The only safe place to speak your mind, according to rumor, was the Gryffindor common room, and no Gryffindor would tell me the password. I thought the whole idea of passwords was ridiculous, anyway. If you wanted to get into our common room, you answered a question. That way you learned, right?

But you couldn't trust anyone these days, and no one could trust you. Outright supporters of Harry Potter were given _detentions_, the word they used for the torture sessions they inflicted on people who thought wrong thoughts. I managed to avoid Crucioing anyone for a whole month, and not being Crucioed wasn't hard. Easy rules applied: do your homework, shut up, and pretend you hate Muggles.

I'm a coward. I admit it. I'm a bloody coward and I couldn't do what was right to save my life. All around me, better people than I were tortured for their courage as I looked the other way. Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, Seamus Finnegan, Dean Thomas, Parvati Patil, Cho Chang, Colin Creevey, Lavender Brown… they were heroes. Scarred, beat-up heroes, but heroes nonetheless.

It didn't escape me that most of them were Gryffindors, and seventh years. But mainly, it didn't escape me that they were all friends of Harry Potter.

Harry Potter…

He was our lifeline then, not like something thrown to a drowning man, but like the hope of a rescue boat. In those first weeks, when every word we said wasn't watched, we dreamed about what would happen "when Harry Potter comes." When Harry Potter came, the Carrows would run like scared children. When Harry Potter came, Professor Snape would melt like snow in the sun. The Death Eaters might try to fight, but he would jinx them to hell and back. You-Know-Who's supporters would poof into thin air. He'd rescued the Sorcerer's Stone, he'd slain the monster in the Chamber of Secrets, he'd fought a Hungarian Horntail, he'd confronted You-Know-Who in the Ministry of Magic… he could do anything. We would be free again, when Harry Potter came.

Hah. When Harry Potter came.

September passed just like that, with wild dreams in the first weeks and enforced silence in the rest. Then, in early October, _The Quibbler_ came.

I subscribed to _The Quibbler_, for a laugh when I needed one, but only during the summer. I didn't have my own owl, and neither did Selene or Rhiannon. Christopher'd had a lovely Barn Owl called Ringo, but that had been Christopher.

And speaking of Christopher, as September wore on I missed him more than ever. It was Christopher who had introduced me to the Muggle band the Beatles. It was Christopher who had been seemingly the only other Quiberon Quafflepunchers supporter at Hogwarts. (Even _I_ didn't know why I liked them, for God's sake. They were _French_." It was Christopher who had made me laugh in dark times. And now I referred to him in the past tense. Not long past, but very tense.

The _Daily Prophet_s made it clear what was happening to Muggle-borns. I didn't believe its lies, not a word. Christopher had been the most honest person I'd known. He couldn't, and wouldn't, have stolen magic from anyone. Besides, the very idea of stealing magic was ridiculous. If that was possible, there wouldn't be any Squibs, would there?

And then the Quibblers came.

It was after breakfast. I was walking to the common room, having left Selene and Rhiannon in the Great Hall. I was a fast eater, with little patience.

My steps were slow, my feet dragged, my back slouched. Hope and will had been beaten out of me, except for the Galleon that glinted in my pocket. Hogwarts wasn't Hogwarts, Christopher was gone, and these days it seemed like Harry Potter would never come.

I was so depressed, I didn't see a familiar redheaded girl walking down the corridor towards me. She shouldn't even have been here- this corridor only led to the Ravenclaw common room, which she couldn't get into. But as she passed me, her shoulder bumped mine.

"_Ginny?_" I asked, startled.

"Sorry," said Ginny, and practically fled down the corridor. I frowned, and then looked at what she'd slipped into my hand. It was a copy of _The Quibbler_.

_Where is Harry Potter Now?_

_Fifty Ways to Help Harry._

_Six Teacups and a Broken Pot: the Latest Muggle Atrocities._

_Oh, Shut Up, Voldy! An Essay_

It was like a drink of cool water when I hadn't realized I was dying of thirst. I clutched the Quibbler to my chest, knowing I couldn't let anyone see a title of an article like _Why Pureblood Superiority is Bull_, and hurried into the common room and up to my dormitory after telling the voice the position of Mars last week. I flopped onto my four-poster bed and laid the magazine out on my pillow after checking to see that no one else was there. As an afterthought, I took Ginny's Galleon out of my pocket and put it nest to the page. I still couldn't see anything odd about it, but it was the symbol, for me, that mattered.

_Oh, Shut Up, Voldy!_

_by George and Fred Weasley_

Of course, Fred and George! I recalled with a smile the spectacular things they'd done in my fourth year: the Skiving Snackboxes, the brilliant fireworks, the swamp that took up a whole floor, and, last but not least, their flamboyant exit on brooms from Hogwarts. It was the first happy memory I'd had in a while.

_We all know that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is a very silly man…_

I read through the article, giggling. Only Fred and George could refer to You-Know-Who as "obviously a textbook case for the asylum". For that matter, only Fred and George could have thought up the term "Voldy."

"What're you laughing at?" came a voice from the doorway. I jumped and hastily tried to stuff the Quibbler beneath my pillow before I realized it was Luna.

"Your dad's a genius," I said sincerely.

"Thank you," Luna said, smiling. "He does try, you know. Would you like a pair of Spectrespecs? They can be very useful for warding off Wrackspurts."

"No, thanks," I said hastily. I'd tried on a pair of Spectrespecs once, but all they'd done was make me feel dizzy and turn everything a pale shade of blue.

Suddenly I realized Luna and Ginny were supposed to be friends. "Hey, d'you know what this means?" I asked her, showing her Ginny's galleon.

Luna raised her eyebrows. "Where did you get that?"

"Ginny gave it to me."

"Oh, she must _like_ you. I'll have to tell her to update it." And she wandered out of the dormitory, leaving me completely bewildered.

A few days later, I was eating lunch with Selene and discussing one of the few things we could talk about without getting detention now (the weather) when she leaned in close and whispered:

"They've reinstituted Educational Decree Twenty-seven."

I blinked. "Educational Decree whatsit?"

"Shush, not so loud!" hissed Selene. "Twenty-seven. You know. 'Any student found in possession of the magazine _The Quibbler_ will be expelled.'"

"Brilliant," I groaned. "Just brilliant. Don't know where I'll hide next month's issue."

Selene gave me a strange look. "You wouldn't consider, say, not-"

"No," I said firmly. "Don't argue with me. I won't survive without this."

It was true. Because in mid-October, something happened that made me read the Quibbler frantically, over and over again, trying to escape the horrible darkness of reality.

I'd been told to stay after class in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and did so, my heart thumping. This classroom had become revolting to me. I didn't want to stay here a moment longer than necessary, and the fact that Carrow wanted me for _anything_ was ominous.

After a few moments, when all the students were gone, Carrow turned to me. "Miss Watson," he said, grinning. "I've noticed that in all your time in my class, you haven't once had an opportunity to practice the Cruciatus Curse in a practical situation. This _will not do_, Miss Watson. Don't you agree?"

I gulped.

"Come in, Alecto," called Carrow.

The Carrow woman walked in, with a grin identical to her brother's, leading a tiny little boy I recognized as Dennis Creevey. I felt the blood drain from my face. Not Dennis. He was only a kid. A seventh-year I could have handled, someone who looked competent, but not helpless little Dennis.

"What's he done?" asked Carrow casually.

Alecto shrugged. "He looked at me funny."

"Right," said Carrow. "Go on, Miss Watson."

I stayed stock-still, frozen.

"_Do it_, Miss Watson," Carrow said softly. "Unless you'd like a more… direct… demonstration."

He was going to use it on me. I closed my eyes, hate for him ripping through my heart. How dare he? What gave him the right to torture us like this? It wasn't fair, none of it was. All of this was just not fair.

"One last chance, Miss Watson…"

I'm a coward.

And I hate myself now for the courage I did not have that day.


	4. Halloween

Halloween was miserable. The pumpkins were lit and floating in midair, yes, and the candles glowed with an unearthly light, but the only ones who could possibly have been having a good time were Professor Snape, the Carrows, and the Future Death Eaters of Britain (also known as Slytherins). I'd always gotten along with Slytherins before now, figuring it was better to have them as friends than enemies, but I was _not_ in favour of the wholehearted support they gave the Carrows.

There was graffiti around the school these days. Filch was going mad trying to scrub it off, but he couldn't do magic, and I suspected the ones who had put it up there had known that and put it up with some sort of clever version of a Sticking Charm. In any case, most of it said the same sort of thing: _Dumbledore's Army, Still Recruiting!_

Dumbledore's Army!

It was a voice from the past. I had very clear memories of fourth year. In some ways, it had been my favourite year at Hogwarts. The many small rebellions against the Umbridge woman had been exciting, made me want to be part of a larger organization. Though I'd only gone to the initial meeting in the Hog's Head, then been scared off by Educational Decree Twenty-four, I'd still felt like I was part of something. Part of something good.

I'd only heard about what happened to them later, after Professor Dumbledore disappeared that year. It was abysmally hard sorting out truth from rumour, so I took everything I heard with a grain of salt.

Supposedly, the DA had been betrayed by some Ravenclaw girl. I reluctantly accepted this as truth, as Hufflepuffs were too loyal to stab anyone in the back and it would have been stupid for a Gryffindor to do it—they all hated Umbridge. Harry Potter had been captured and taken to Professor Dumbledore's office, where Umbridge and the Minister of Magic had tried to get a confession out of him. Then, well, either Professor Dumbledore had knocked them out and disappeared… or, alternatively, Mr. Fudge and three Aurors had been in St. Mungo's for a month and a half.

In any case, Dumbledore's Army was worth three Galleons and a Quibbler as a means of installing hope. For me, anyway. Some other people did not agree.

It was this, er, _disagreement _which made Halloween so miserable.

Rhiannon and I had maintained an uneasy balance for the past two months. I didn't talk about how You-Know-Who was a homicidal, Muggle-hating maniac, and she didn't talk about how Muggles were brutish animals who were infinitely inferior to wizards. It was the Unspoken Truce that we kept to preserve our friendship.

Besides, I recognized that she had never wanted _this_ to happen. She had never wanted me or Selene to be Crucioed. She had never wanted to Crucio anyone herself, as a matter of fact. She just wanted Hogwarts, normal Hogwarts, without the Muggle-borns. Though hating Muggles was a trait installed in her from birth, she, like most people, only wanted tomorrow to be pretty much like today.

She was a product of her environment. I recognized that, and forgave her for it.

Most of the time.

We were sitting together, Rhiannon and Selene and I, as we always did. In these times, we couldn't survive without each other. We could barely survive _with_ each other, if it came to that. There was pumpkin juice in each of our goblets, and an amazing feast spread out before us, but it was mostly untouched. Raindrops were pouring down from the enchanted ceiling, disappearing before they hit the tables. Up at the teachers' table, the Carrows were stuffing their faces. The rest of us were… less enthusiastic.

Don't mistake me for one of those weirdoes who think that house-elves should be free and get vacation days and wages and seven-hour workdays. I know they don't want that sort of thing. But it was wrong, the way the kitchen elves were being worked. Twenty-four hours a day! Seven days a week! Four and a half weeks a month! If a house-elf was lucky, they got an hour of sleep a day, and maybe a bite or two of bread in between making our next meal. It wasn't possible to survive in those kinds of conditions. I didn't know how many had already died from lack of food or sleep or overwork, but I did know that the Carrows and damn Professor Snape thought they were replaceable. Like machines.

I was a vegetarian, sort of. I refused to eat meat unless the animals had been treated _really well_. Chickens not stuck in tiny cages. Cows free to go and, er, eat grass, and, um, say "moo." (I was a city kid.) So eating pies that had been baked by a house-elf who was about to collapse from starvation seemed wrong to me in exactly the same way.

The trouble was, I didn't want to starve…

It's hard to compromise my natural idealist with my world-beaten realist.

This Halloween I had more willpower than most days. I ate sparingly, mostly what the house-elves hadn't had to work hard to make. Apples. Pieces of cheese. Pumpkin juice, which you could get from manufactured bottles. Things like that.

I can't decide today whether I wish I hadn't stuck to this or that I'm happy I did. Because Rhiannon, noticing, said, "I thought you liked pumpkin pie, Callie."

I did. It was my favourite food in the world. It was taking an enormous amount of plain stubbornness not to cut myself a slice. "That's right," I said.

"Don't you want some?"

"Nah," I said, hoping desperately that she wouldn't guess my reasons for not eating the delicious-smelling, golden-brown, disturbingly yummy-looking pie. With vanilla ice cream. My hands were practically twitching in need.

Unfortunately, Rhiannon was a Ravenclaw. We can be cowardly, lazy, and have no common sense whatsoever, but we _are_ smart. She narrowed her eyes. "Callie…" she said dangerously.

"Rhiannon…" I replied in the same tone, hoping to turn it into a joke. It didn't work.

"Callie, take some pie," she ordered me, her voice deadly.

"No, thank you. I'm full," I replied, deadly as well.

"You've had cheese, an apple, and pumpkin juice," she said, raising an eyebrow.

"And a carrot."

Rhiannon rolled her eyes. "A _carrot_. Of _course_. How did I not guess? You're absolutely full, really _stuffed_, with cheese, an apple, pumpkin juice, and a _carrot_."

No one could do sarcasm better than Rhiannon. I liked it when she was sarcastic, usually. Usually it was funny. Usually the sarcasm wasn't directed at me. I wasn't in the mood.

"Oh, shut up," I said moodily, and took another bite of the offending carrot.

Her face darkened. "Don't tell me to shut up, half-blood."

She regretted the word as soon as it came out of her mouth, I could tell, but I'd had enough. Enough of her offhand anti-Muggle comments. Enough of her casual support of You-Know-Who and his people. Enough of the Carrows, enough of this trapped feeling, enough of Hogwarts not being Hogwarts any more, enough of Dumbledore being dead, enough of Harry Potter not coming, enough, enough, _enough!_

"Any Muggle on the street would be justified in telling you to shut up," I hissed. "You and your Death Eater parents."

"Um," Selene said nervously, sitting between me and Rhiannon. "Callie-"

"Shut up about my mum and dad!" Rhiannon said angrily.

"Rhi…" began Selene hesitantly.

"Your mum and dad are murderers and Muggle-haters!"

"My parents never killed anyone!"

"Er, Callie, Rhi-" Selene tried again.

"They as good as! D'you know why all this horrible stuff is going on? Because of people like them!"

"It's not horrible, it's the new order!"

"The new order is getting me Crucioed!"

"You two, um, maybe you should-" started Selene.

"If you don't support it, then you deserve it! That's the point!"

"Hel-_lo_? Thought police?"

"SHUT UP!" bellowed Selene. People from along the table stared at her. She lowered her voice. "Rhi, Callie, _stop it_! Just stop it! You're friends! Remember what that means? _Friends_?"

"I'm not _friends_ with anyone who's a Muggle-lover," Rhiannon hissed.

"I'm not _friends_ with anyone who kills innocents," I hissed back.

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

I stood up angrily, hit my legs on the bench, climbed over it with a scowl, and stalked out of the Great Hall. My dramatic exit was ruined as I tripped over thin air when I was almost at the door and nearly landed flat on my face. Graceful I'm not.

Later that night, I heard Rhiannon come into the dormitory, Selene behind her. In a book, I thought, I would make up with the both of them, and we would all promise to be kinder from now on. In a book, things would gradually get better from that day onward. In a book, we'd be able to hold our own against Professor Snape and the Carrows, showing spirit and courage. In a book, Harry Potter would return, and be the Chosen One, and defeat You-Know-Who. In a book, Dumbledore wouldn't have died. In a book, yes, I could be friends with Rhiannon again.

Yeah, right.

Books, I thought to myself as I stared at the ceiling of my four-poster bed, my vision swimming with tears, have happy endings.


End file.
